Oil is the fuel to Fire Flames VS Oilers
by WhenIGoDown
Summary: I hold onto what I hope would keep you by my side as a lover instead of an obsessor. But I blame myself for the way I act because you obsess and I am forever your possession. R&R please. More chapters to come


_Fuel gives me fire with that I desire!_

"_And we're back, ten minutes left in the third period."_

I know the voice that echoes through out the stadium. The puck is dropped and I go, blades on my feet slashing into concrete ice as I hear my own breathing like an animal. I'm tired, over used, abused and neglected as I take on the task of getting it into his end.

The fire in his eyes, the crack in his voice, the smash of our collision of bodies, and always followed by the bone cracking noise of crunching bones hitting the pads that hit the glass. I exhale deeply, desperately, absorbing the pain as it crackles my mind. You whisper something incoherent in my ear before skating off. Fucking lunatic defence man, don't you know I have a brother? He's in net right now, watching your every move. He's angry now as you take a virgin punch to my head.

But I am not weak as I spin around, animalistic behaviours of hands clenching and I wham his helmet off. He watches it with his eyes as he collapses and I hear another penalty on my part. I sit down in that box only to linger my eyes over the most protected form. I walk my eyes past the forwards and defence to him. I wish I could make more out than black holes for eyes but I don't want to turn my head.

We really are rivals. Flame and oil, forever the two cities at constant battle on the hockey front and we are what it boils down to. Can the forward perform and can the goalie protect? I need to be in a position where I intimidate you and you need to be in a position where you suppress my every effort to pierce through your barrier. But it's just like how it ends up in bed, I beneath your mighty form and you atop rocking my world. Forcing me into submission isn't easy on you either. You don't like my rowdy behaviours and insufficient times for when I come home. It's obvious in how you play.

When the game is over we'll meet back at home. Mom and dad are dead so it's me and you, you and me. Anyway you put it we're together and that's where the pain begins. The anger begins, the frustration and situations but it always leaves us breathless and exhausted.

I like the ice tonight. The giant oil drop in the centre is a nice touch. Each time you perform in this stadium you get oppressed for what you are. What you deserve to be oppressed for, a traitor to your own city. But I guess it's better this way. If you aren't on my team then we can have days of peace and serenity. Much better then the monster I awoke for tonight.

The giant bell and the victorious screech of _**my **_fans make me happy.

**--&--**

We ride in separate cars, take it home and Get in the door at different times. Tonight you get home before I do, your couch probably didn't want to see your face after you let in the final goal that made us win. The door opens to our however many rooms house that's not a house, it's a battleground. The bedroom is the decision room and that's where I head first.

Clothes lay in a neat pile on your side and I strip to take off mine. Leaving only pair of boxers on I strut downstairs. But not before checking myself in the mirror. Abs, arms, legs, shoulders, a body of an athlete and my face as ferocious as a jaguar with my black spiked mane My eyes seem so dark and deep, I wonder if Itachi minds the endlessness I see in my own eyes… the longing lonesome feeling they give off.

But even then I couldn't care as I walk downstairs to be met with the scent of cigarettes. A headache knocks under the skull and slowly forms like a giant zit that you just can't pop and it oozes and pains and becomes more obnoxious than your own mother.

"You said you'd quit."

"So did you."

"It's a different type of infliction."

"Same result."

His face is stern like a man's should be. Much more masculine than my own, chiselled to perfection. Lips that are thin and stretch over a canvas of pale flesh. Dark lines that show sleep deprivation rim under the discoloration of an eye so surreal to anyone that it is inhumane.

His hand extends and plucks that burning paper from between those lips and pushes it into the ashtray. No fire extinguisher could put out the smoke that escapes his lungs but sticks to his breath. He looks at me. I look at him. No exchange of words yet which means more are coming.

"You look disgusted by me," he voices his opinion on how I look.

"It's because I am," mine is hollow and without much force.

"But why? You're the one who's being fruity with the defence man on my team," says Itachi as he picks up his pace of anger.

"I was just doing my job, you're just my older brother. You don't control my way of play," I can feel a build up in my throat as I hold back my anger even if it leeks a tad bit out.

"But I control your heart. Don't forget who took care of you, don't forget who took your virginity and don't forget whom you belong to," snaps the older of us as he stands up.

He makes his move and progresses forward. I could run or stay but I don't have a choice he has me cornered. I am barely eighteen and he's in his twenties. I don't have the physical strength to push him off of me as I'm backed into a corner though my hands go up to rest on his chest and hold him off.

"Sasuke, you're a possession. Something that needs to be taught how to act and the more you slip up the worse this will get. Your slutty behaviour will only get you hurt."

He could never hurt me because…oil is the fuel to fire.


End file.
